Rock Bottom

by Emily Goodwin

  It’s been on the county Spring Home Tour for three years in a row now, and every year it gets high ratings from everyone who passes through. But houses aren’t meant to sit empty, and I know Dad was throwing me a bone by suggesting I buy it. I got a hell of a deal on this place, of course, and we still bring clients in to show them examples of our work.

  And I agreed to have it on the home tour again this spring, which I’ll probably regret.

  This house was built for a family, with an open-concept floor plan and a large bonus room over the garage which would a perfect playroom. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining that I got really nice house for dirt cheap. This place is fucking sweet, and the women I bring home are always impressed by it.

  But it reminds me just how alone I am.

  I slide the pie to the back of the counter, a habit I got into years ago. We always had dogs growing up and most were terrible food hounds, stealing anything they could off the counter. I get something to drink and then go back into the living room with the intention of playing video games and keeping myself occupied that way, but I know that won’t be enough.

  Because I don’t want to be alone tonight.

  “Fuck it,” I say, not caring that I have a ten AM meeting in the morning. These clients are perpetually late, and we’re meeting here at the house so they can look at the wainscoting in the guest room upstairs. I’m a generally neat person, and I vacuumed the entire house yesterday, so it’s not like I have to rush around cleaning before the meeting.

  It’s plenty of time to get home…or to kick someone out.

  Either way, I’ll have a warm body next to me tonight. It’ll be enough…for now.

  Chapter 8

  Rory

  “Why are you calling me?” I slow and pull into the gravel parking lot of Getaway. “Are you dying?”

  “Not tonight,” Lennon laughs. “And I’m driving. So you get to listen to my beautiful voice. I know you miss it.”

  “I do,” I say and drive through rows of pickup trucks as I look for a spot. “So if you’re not dying, then why are you calling me?” We text occasionally, not as much as we have in the past, but we’ve both been busy with work.

  Which isn’t a good excuse, I know.

  “You’re never going to guess where I have an interview next week.”

  “Orlando.”

  “Ew, no. My hair and all that humidity do not mix,” she laughs. “Guess again.”

  “Um, Vegas? I know you love the dry heat.”

  “I do, but I’m not that lucky. You’re never going to guess so I’ll just tell you. Newport.”

  “Yay! Wait…Newport? That’s by me!”

  “I know! I wasn’t sure about taking this job, but they’re desperate for an assistant principal at one of their middle schools, so I agreed to come and talk face to face.”

  “Ahhh, that’s awesome!” My lips pull up in a smile. I lost contact with the few close friends I had in college, and most of the nurses at my previous job were older than me. We got along just fine and went out to lunch together a few times, but they were busy with their teenage children so hanging out as friends never really happened.

  Lennon and I were always close, and even though we don’t see each other that often since she took a job in Detroit, things are never awkward between us. We’re only seven months apart, and she really is just like my sister.

  “When is your interview?”

  “Next Tuesday. I’ll be coming in late Monday night and my interview is Tuesday morning. My flight doesn’t leave until the evening, so please tell me you’re not working.”

  “I’m off Tuesday!” I say

  “I knew this was meant to be.”

  “It totally is! How cool would it be if you moved here?”

  “That would be awesome. How are you liking it, for real?” she says.

  “I’m settling in. I actually just got to a bar. By myself.”

  “What? Elory Harris is going out alone?”

  “Hah. I do things alone. Just not very often in social settings.”

  “Well, have fun. You deserve it. I know you haven’t gone out since you’ve moved.”

  “I haven’t, but—”

  “No excuses. But really, Rory, have fun. Meet a cute guy. Flirt a little and have him buy you a drink.”

  “Remember when we used to pretend to be British?” I laugh.

  “Our accents were terrible.”

  “But it worked. We always got guys to buy us drinks.”

  “Nix the accent, but don a fake name,” she suggests. “No harm in having a little fun, right?”

  “You are right,” I say, letting her words sink in. “A little fun never hurt anyone.”

  “Well…” she starts and then laughs. “Be safe.”

  “You too. Love you, Len.”

  “You too, Ror. Night!”

  I end the call, check out my reflection one more time since I have a terrible habit of smearing my lipstick without realizing it, and get out of the Jeep. Cold air hits me in the face, and I hurry in, regretting my choice to not wear my coat into the bar. It’s freaking freezing, but I don’t want to have to worry about my coat once I’m inside.

  Nerves flutter through me as I step into the bar. I don’t go out on my own like this very often, and I’ve never set foot inside a bar without a boyfriend or several girlfriends on my arm. I take a second to look around and then feel a sense of empowerment flood over me, washing the nerves out to sea.

  This place is crowded, and country music plays above the sounds of dishes clanking and people talking and laughing. It’s exactly how I pictured a small-town bar to be, yet more at the same time.

  It’s big.

  Full of all sorts of people.

  Modern in some ways and country in others.

  I immediately love it.

  Smiling, I weave my way through the crowd, spotting a seat at the bar.

  “Rory!” someone shouts, and I turn to see Jane, another nurse from the hospital waving at me. She usually comes in as I’m leaving, but we’ve chatted a few times and she’s nice enough. She’s young, only a year or two out of nursing school, and always cheery.

  “Hey, Jane!”

  She waves me over, holding a beer in her other hand. “You finally came!” Turning to the guy next to her, she motions at me. “We work together, and I keep telling her to come out here some night when we’re both off.” She takes a drink of her beer only to realize it’s empty. I’m guessing that’s not her first of the night. “This is Damon, my boyfriend. This is Rory. We work together.”

  “You already said that,” Damon laughs and wraps his arm around her waist. “You’re so fucking cute.” They kiss and I’m left standing there awkwardly. Isn’t love so fucking grand?

  “I need to introduce you to someone,” Jane blurts, breaking away from her boyfriend. She takes my arm and pulls me over to her table. “Guys, this is Rory. We work together.”

  “Hi,” I say, lifting my hand up in a little wave.

  “This is Nick. He’s single,” she adds quietly, wiggling her eyebrows. “Ohhhh! Perfect timing!”

  A cocktail waitress brings over a tray of tequila shots. Jane downs one and trades it for another, handing me one as well.

  “Do a shot with me!”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I had way too many tequila shots in college. I can’t do it anymore.”

  “What do you want?” Nick asks, giving me a smirk. “You look like the kind of girl who prefers a glass of expensive wine.”

  Is that a compliment? A backhanded insult? I’m not sure. But I smirk right back and straighten my shoulders. “Actually, I like whiskey.”

  “Damn,” he says. “A woman after my own heart.” He flags down the cocktail waitress and orders two shots of whiskey. Do people take whiskey as a shot? I don’t drink enough to know. And when I do drink it has to be something sweet where I can barely taste the alcohol at all.

  “Thank you,” I say, trying to be coy, and take the whiskey f
rom the tray. The smell of tequila coming from Jane is strong and makes me shudder, reminding me all at once of that one night I spent on the floor of a Taco Bell bathroom after a little too much partying.

  “You okay?” Nick asks, smirking again.

  “Yeah, I’m just remembering a night years ago when I had way too much tequila. I was on my way home from this crazy costume party—I was dressed as Hermione and—”

  Nick’s phone rings, and he turns away from me to answer without a word. What is happening? The call must be urgent…maybe? His body language is making me think he’s trying to score a booty call or is a total mama’s boy and is checking in with his mother. Jane and her boyfriend are locking lips again, and I’m just standing here feeling awkward. I wait a beat, and Nick is still on the phone, and Jane is practically in her boyfriend’s lap now.

  “I’m, uh, gonna find a seat by the bar,” I say, lowering the shot glass. A few seconds pass and no one looks my way. “Thanks for this.” I raise the glass and turn, walking toward the bar, feeling more and more awkward. I don’t want to have a pity party, but maybe there was something to Mike not wanting to commit. Nick answered a call mid-conversation.

  Am I that boring?

  I’m no supermodel but I think I’m decent enough to look at.

  And I showered so I know I don’t stink.

  I make it a few more paces before someone bumps into me, jerking my arm.

  Whiskey sloshes out of the glass and spills down my chest. Dammit. Thank goodness it was only a shot and not a full drink at least. Holding my arms out, I look around for a napkin, stepping back to avoid the rowdy crowd in front of me.

  But right as I move back, I bump into someone else. Tonight, obviously, is not my night. Teetering on tall heels, I start to lose my balance as I turn to apologize to the person I bumped. Strong hands grasp my shoulders, keeping me upright. I turn to see who saved me, and I open my mouth to tell him thank you, but the words die before they can leave my lips.

  The man before me might possibly be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Even in this dim light, his eyes are striking: sky blue with a rim of dark navy. His dark hair is effortlessly pushed away from his face, and the perfect amount of stubble covers his sharp jaw.

  I need to step away. Break his magnetic gaze. Because a man this good-looking means nothing but trouble.

  “Th…thanks,” I finally say, clutching the shot glass, still a little stunned. “I uh…I need a napkin.”

  His full lips pull up into a smirk and he looks at my chest, watching a bead of whiskey roll between my breasts. “That’s a waste of perfectly good whiskey.”

  He meets my eyes again, and that smirk turns into a cocky half-smile, one he knows looks beyond sexy. He’s aware of exactly what he’s doing, furthering the voice in the back of my head telling me to run far, far away. I’m new in town and don’t need his brand of trouble.

  Though there’s no harm in having a little fun, right?

  I swipe a finger across my chest and stick it in my mouth, tasting the whiskey. “It is. I should find the jerk who bumped into me and tell him that.”

  “No need,” Blue Eyes says, reaching past me to grab a napkin off the bar top. “I’ll buy you another shot.” He hands me the napkin, eyes back on me as I blot up the spilled alcohol on my chest. “I’m Dean,” he says.

  “And I’m…I’m…” Cursed. Damned to have another string of bad luck. Not looking to start anything new, especially with Mr. GQ who has “heartbreaker” written all over him. “I’m very glad I ditched my date and came here.”

  What? Who said that? Rory Harris isn’t a flirt. It’s not for lack of trying, it’s for lack of skill, I’m willing to admit.

  “Ohh, ouch. The poor guy.” Dean signals to the bartender and pulls out a stool for me.

  “Yeah, it was set up by a friend, actually, and the guy seemed like a total loser. I dodged a bullet.” I smooth out my dress and take a seat on the stool. “I’m talking in his thirties, still lives with his parents, no career ambition or anything, and an overall boring, whiny man-child from what I was told.”

  Dean laughs. “Why would you agree to go out with him?”

  Laughing as well, I shake my head. “I guess I felt a little sorry for him and was trying to help out the friend who set the date up.”

  “His loss is my gain,” Dean says as the bartender comes over. “Do you want anything else?”

  “A glass of Moscato would be great, actually.”

  “Pink?”

  “Red, if they have it.”

  “They do.”

  A pretty blonde bartender comes over and takes our order. She seems very familiar with Dean, which doesn’t matter. He could come here every day, drink himself silly, and take home a different woman every night and it wouldn’t matter.

  It’s his business.

  And I’m not going to let him be mine.

  Though…dammit…I really want to.

  “Thanks,” I say after he puts in our order. I look around, glad I got here when I did. The place is filling up fast. “It’s busy for a Tuesday night.”

  “Getaway is always busy,” Dean notes, taking the stool next to me when the guy sitting there gets up, beer in hand as he stumbles to a pool table. “Which is good.”

  “It is?”

  He nods. “Very. My brothers own it.”

  “Oh. Well, then, yes, business is good.” And that could be why the bartender knew his usual drink. He’s not a—it doesn’t matter.

  “If you’re surprised by Getaway being busy on a Tuesday, I’m guessing you’ve never been here before.”

  “You guessed right.” The waitress comes back with our drinks. “Thanks,” I tell her, taking my Moscato. “I just got a job at the new hospital and moved here.”

  “It’s brought a lot of newbies into town.”

  I take a sip of wine, which is much better than any whiskey would have been. “Unwelcome newbies? This isn’t a town that hates outsiders, is it?”

  Dean chuckles. “If they look like you, we’d all be okay with it.”

  I blush and take another sip of my wine. And then another. “Well, I’m from a smallish town up north, so if you were to say you don’t welcome outsiders, I’d oddly be okay with it.”

  “Up north?”

  “In Mich—” I start but quickly cut off. Tonight is all about having fun. “Canada. I’m from Canada.”

  “Ah, I see. So this is tropical weather for you then.”

  I laugh, take another sip of wine, and nod. “It hit forty-three today. It felt like a heat wave.”

  “It’s weird even for us locals.” He brings his glass to his mouth and takes a drink. I have no idea what he’s drinking—an Old Fashioned maybe—but I really want to taste it off his lips right now. “How long have you been here?”

  “About a month.”

  “And you’re just now getting out?” He raises his eyebrows and I nudge him with my foot.

  “Hey, now. Are you judging me?” I swallow another mouthful of wine. Is it too soon to feel it hit me? Since I ditched my date, I also ditched dinner. I’m starving and this wine is tasting too good right now.

  “I judged you the moment I saw you,” he admits candidly.

  “Oh yeah?” I cock one eyebrow and rest my elbow on the bar, still not knowing who this woman is, being all flirty and not too awkward. Not yet, at least. “Tell me…what did you think when you first saw me?”

  That cocky grin is back on his face. “The first thing I thought was how much I wanted to lick that whiskey off your chest.”

  Cue more blushing—and oh shit. The big sip of wine I just took went down the wrong pipe. I turn my head, coughing. Still want to lick me, buddy?

  “But before that I saw something…something different in your eyes.” The cocky grin fades and for a moment, the confident air he’s putting on disappears. The moment is fugacious, over before it’s really even there.

  “Different?”

  “You look like you have a st
ory.”

  “Don’t we all?” I raise my glass a bit and then take another drink, mentally telling myself to slow down since the glass if halfway gone now.

  “Oh, we do. But not all are worth telling. Even fewer are worth listening to.”

  “Tell me, Dean,” I say and lean in. “Do you have a story?”

  He laughs, casually plowing his hand through his thick brown hair, messing it up perfectly. It should be illegal to be that good-looking.

  It’s a distraction and causes severe lack of judgement.

  “I have several, and trust me, they are more than worth hearing.” He takes another drink. “But you didn’t come here tonight to listen to me tell you my story, did you?”

  “No,” I say and bring the wine to my lips. “I didn’t, and I get the feeling you didn’t come here to talk either.”

  I didn’t mean it the way it sounds, but there’s no taking my words back now. And more importantly…I don’t want to take them back. This is fun, and the way Dean is looking at me like he wants to devour me makes my whole body come alive.

  “I did not.” His eyes wander over me, not hiding that he’s checking me out yet not being overly obvious about it. It’s like he’s not afraid for me to know he likes what he’s seeing…or more so, he wants me to know he’s liking what he’s seeing.

  Holy shit.

  I’m squirming in my seat, and suddenly words have left me. The sexy Rory has checked out and now awkward, foot-in-mouth Rory is threatening to stand in for her.

  Racking my brain for something to say, I buy myself time by taking another drink of wine. The double doors open as a large group comes in, and a gust of cold air rushes through the bar, making me shiver.

  “Cold?” Dean asks, reaching out and running his hand slowly up my forearm, feeling the goosebumps that break out along my flesh. Oh my goodness, his touch is warm and his palms are rough, and it’s been so long since I’ve been touched like this.

  Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever been touched like this.